


Red Hot

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (2011)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot, Public Sex, Rough Sex, S&M, Sexual Content, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, femmeslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruby knows what she likes and isn't afraid to go out and get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Hot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvscharlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvscharlie/gifts).



> This kind of got away on me a little bit. Ruby was determined to have some fun :) Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> And bonus points if you can identify the characters :) There are hints there, but I think they may only be obvious to me.

I’m not easy.

Sure, I like screwing, but that’s not a crime.

Gram acts like I’m some whore of Babylon or some bullshit, but she doesn’t believe in God or hell or any of that crap any more than I do.

I know she’s worried I’ll get some STD or, worse, end up pregnant, but I know enough not to do that. Got pills, IUD, condoms. You name it, I got it. Can’t trust the guys to do it for you. When you have ‘em on their backs, almost begging for it, it’s not like they’re gonna put safe sex high on their to-do lists.

Sometimes, a hobby is worth the effort.

It is a hobby too. And exercise. You don’t get an ass like mine just waiting tables. I hate gyms and I don’t wanna give up candy, so I exercise in the best way I know how.

I have a few guys. They all know about each other. None of ‘em are serious, and if any of ‘em ever tries to make it that, he gets shown the door. I don’t want to settle, and I sure as hell don’t need to. I’m not a house-and-babies kinda person, and anyone who knows me knows it.

That’s why I’m in the woods tonight, in the dark, with the full moon rising.

There’s something hot knowing that you’re going to be found by someone who knows just how to look for you. I like to play, and sometimes I make it easy, sometimes I make it hard. Tonight, it’s kinda a bit of both.

The forest looks black and silver, and the only colour I can see is the bright red of my shirt.

I can hear him out there, footsteps on broken and dry branches, and I know he can see me, even if I can’t see him. It’s a hell of a thing. So I run, and branches skim my hair and my face, and over my thighs. I’ll be scratched to damnation by morning, but it’s worth it.

I swear he could hear my heart beating faster, and even though it’s cold, I don’t feel it. I can hear his steps get faster and faster, and closer and closer. I duck and dive, but I know he’ll still see the red of my shirt, I know that he’s on it like it’s blood.

He catches me in a patch of shadow, hot hand around my wrist, and pulls me back, against his chest. It’s broad and bare, and I can feel the thick hair. He grips my arm with one hand and the other rips the shirt from top to bottom. It’s fucking cold, but he palms my tit, squeezes and kneads, and one thick thigh is between mine, pressing up, making me rock, and god, it’s like he knows me.

“Shouldn’t have run,” he growls, breath hot on my throat, and he bites at my earlobe, then licks and growls some more, and it goes straight to my pants. I grab his hand, push it down, but the bastard doesn’t want that.

I guess I’m lucky the nearest tree didn’t have to many branches. The bark crushes my tits, scraping and rubbing and he presses his hips against me, and damn, if he isn’t ready for it. I try to reach for him, but he’s faster, and his hand’s around my wrist again.

“No,” he says, and his voice is like aural sex, from ear to crotch in a heartbeat. I push against his thigh, all muscle and tense, roll and roll, and he grabs my throat, squeezes, and hisses right in my ear, “What do you want?”

I laugh, breathe, something. “You know.”

He squeezes. I groan. “Tell me.”

On my toes, ass up, only panties and me against the moonlight. “My, my,” I whisper, pressing against him, “what a big cock you have.”

I hear the fly go down before he shoves and I’m hard against the tree and he’s panting and drooling against my shoulder. Turned into a goddamn tree-hugger by my wildman in the darkness.

I laugh and hiss and god knows what and he’s pushing deeper and harder, and I’m sure as hell bleeding all over, but god, and hard, and deep and the air is cold and the fucking bastard is pushing and again and again and and and…

“That all you got?” I hiss.

He growls and bites down and slams me hard against the tree and again and again and GOD DAMN!

He keeps going until he’s done, and then he’s gone and I’m in a heap at the bottom of a tree and my blood looks like I’m covered in tiny rubies, shining in the moonlight.

Takes me a while to see he took my panties with him.

“You ruined my shirt, you bastard!” I call out into the darkness. I knows he’s still hanging around, but if I looked, I’d never find him. “And I want my panties back!”

Somewhere, I hear an owl hoot.

I got leaves and dirt stuck to my fanny and splinters in my tits, but all told, it’s been a damn good night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The diner isn’t busy a whole lot. You get your rush in the morning for breakfast, another around noon and a last one in the evening. In between, there are only so many plates you can wash before you want to throw them out the window.

Most of the time, we could sit on our butts and watch the world go by.

Sometimes, you get so bored you got to do something to kill time. So I did the cook.

She’s the main cook, and she’s got a real pretty look about her. I don’t go for girls much, but sometimes, there’s just something, and she has it. She’s small and dark and looks half her forty years, but she’s got curves and softness and you can just grab her and squeeze and it’s so damn beautiful.

She knew I watched her, so it wasn’t a hell of a surprise when I kissed her.

Gotta say I was kind of surprised when she kissed right back.

I popped open the buttons of her dress one by one, watching her, and she was smiling like it was Christmas. She’s beautiful, all warm golden brown all over, and skin soft like a peach. I could just touch it for hours.

Our clothes were on the floor just as soon as we were. I wanted to see her on her back, all spread out for me, but turned out she liked to play too. “Not now,” she said, catching my hands when I reached down to spread her soft thighs. She held out a bottle to me, sweet and sticky maple syrup. “Soon.”

The one thing that could make those curves better was stickying ‘em up.

I don’t know what tasted better: her or the syrup.

It was in her hair, all over her skin, I would taste it at her throat, on her collarbone, and when I leaned over her to kiss her, her nipples stuck to my chest, like they wanted me to pay attention. I’m not one to refuse an invitation.

She wriggled and sighed, but every time I wanted to head lower, she would catch my hair.

“Not now,” she whispered, and I groaned, my thighs straddling one of hers.

“Soon?” I demanded, and pressed down on her with my thigh. Her thigh moved too. Up and down, lazy pressure, warm and soft. God, you hardly need to do a damn thing. She pulled my head down, nibbled my neck, and syruped fingers squeezed and slid all over me, here, there, there, oh, there…

Her fingers were sticky. Sticky and wet and smooth as hell.

“Now…” she whispered.

No fair, I thought, to stop my fun now, all for her.

She smiled, moved her fingers, pulling towards her, dragging my hips forward. “You too, sweet girl.”

Not a first, not by a long way, but over her, with her, her hair spread under my knees, her mouth between my thighs, and mine, and hers, and syrup all over the both of us, and she had fingers and tongue and she knew and not now, not now, soon… soon…

And later, when the dinner crowd showed up, no one but Gram noticed the maple syrup in my hair.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Summer in Storybrooke is dull as hell.

Sometimes, I wish I could go to Boston or even NYC, but Gram and her heart make sure I can’t go anywhere. I know she doesn’t do it on purpose. It’s not like she can help it. But damn, if I don’t wish I could go somewhere else. Nothing changes here. Always being the same is real dull.

It’s hot too. Not hot like California, but humid and your clothes stick and the air con almost always breaks down right when you need it.

When I get days off, on the hottest days, I head up into the hills. The water there is clear and cold and no one is there to yell at you for diving in with no clothes on.

Okay, normally no one is there.

Sometimes, you get caught by surprise.

Literally.

Seriously, who goes fishing in the goddamn hills?

It felt like stringy weeds at first, but it tangled and caught, wrapping around my legs, so I pulled up to see two guys standing on the riverbank with their fishing lines, staring like they’d never seen a naked girl before.

They were both young, one dark, one fair, probably fresh out of high school, and one of them was already getting tight in the pants. Still young enough to get caught by surprise, huh?

“Um.” The other one was blushing.

I untangled the lines, wrapped ‘em around my hands and pulled. “You boys coming in? The water’s fine.”

They stared at me, then at each, and then, they were in the water, splashing at me like they had never been offered it before. Gotta say I don’t usually go for ‘em younger, but sometimes, you have to admire the stamina.

The darker boy got to me first, and as cold as the water was, he was hot, with firm hands and a ready mouth. The denim of his pants rubbed against my belly, and his friend tripped behind me, grabbing my ass and squeezing.

I let ‘em have their fun, groping, squeezing, hands all over and warming me right up from the inside out. The dark boy’s shirt was dropped, floating away down in the river, and his chest pressed to mine, and damn, if his little heart wasn’t ready to pop. He had tattoos. That was a surprise. Three stripes across his chest. I scratched my nails across them and he whined like a kitten in my mouth.

Blondie wasn’t wasting time either. His pants were gone, down or off, I didn’t care, and he was rubbing against my back, like that’d be enough. I grabbed his hand from my hip, pushed it down, down, showing him where it was meant to be and pushed against it, and he swore into my hair, grinding against my back even more.

Sometimes, the lady has to lead.

I grabbed dark-boy’s shoulders and pulled up, and the little sweetheart took the hint. He whimpered again, buried to the balls inside me, my nails in his shoulders, and his friend’s hand caught between us, neat as meat in a sandwich.

“You too, golden boy.” I tossed my hair, wet and heavy against his cheek, and reached back for his cock, and he yelped as I pressed my ass against him. Little boys got to be broken in, but I’m not one to do it gently.

They got the idea, both of ‘em moving, trying to match each other. I got my legs around one and golden boy kissed my shoulder and squeezed my tits, and I let ‘em do all the work, with broad hands helping me rise and fall and the water splashing and spattering us all.

Dark-boy was done first, squeezing my ass hard enough to leave handprints, but I wasn’t about to let golden boy finish second. You get the boy by the golden balls and he’ll follow wherever the hell you lead.

It didn’t take long. Both of ‘em were glad to oblige, and I wasn’t going to complain about that.

I left ‘em sitting in the cool water and headed back for my clothes when I was done.

I headed back to town in the pickup and wondered how long it would take ‘em both to realise that their clothes had floated away down the river like fall leaves.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Some people would say I’m adventurous in my sex life. I don’t think so. I just like to keep things fresh. So I like it out of doors. Big deal. There’s something about their air on your skin that’s almost as sexy as someone’s hands.

But sometimes, even I don’t mind it in a bed.

Trouble with Storybrooke is that there isn’t even a hotel or a motel, so no sneaking off for a night out. I don’t like to be in someone else’s bed, and Gram is real strict about bringing men back to my room. She put me in the room by hers so she can hear if any ‘happenings’ go on. I swear the old lady has ears like a bat.

That’s what makes it a challenge.

I usually go to bed later than she does, but I know she doesn’t sleep until she knows I’m in bed. I can fake-snore pretty well, and when I do, that’s when she figures that it’s safe to go to sleep. It’s part of the game.

There’s a scratching at my window, and in the dark, I can see the silhouette, outlined in silver by the moon.

I always keep the catches oiled, and the window slides up as smooth as butter. He climbs in the window, as quiet on his feet as he is when we run in the woods, and he pulls me close to him. As wild as he can be out there, he’s quiet as a mouse in here.

His mouth is hot, demanding, and he doesn’t say a word. His hand is in my hair, the other creeping up under the shirt I wear to bed. The fabric drags up the back of my thigh, and his fingers are rough and the nails are blunt.

I pull him back with me, towards the bed, and push him down. He sprawls back. It’s so dark he looks like a shadow on the sheets. I kneel over him and his hands run up my thighs, squeezing fit to bust.

My nightshirt is the first to go, straight over my head, and his hands are on my tits before I can breathe. He loves them, my wild beast. He leans up, kisses me, then, hand to my throat, tilts me back, back until it feels I might break, and his mouth is on my nipple, and his other hand squeezes and he sucks and licks and moves his hips under mine.

I grab his hair, thick and coarse, and he growls and bites, then licks and soothes and I want to yell for more, but he knows, not here, no sound, not a damn thing I can do, and he takes his time, lick, lick, suck, bite.

The hand on my throat hardly moves, only the thumb, stroking slowly up and down, but his other hand is moving, sliding down, between us, thick, callused fingers running between my thighs, barely touching. What big hands he has.

I feel like I’m bending in two, and I can barely make a sound, barely breathe, in case she hears, she comes in.

His mouth moves, up, over, and bites gently, enough to mark. Our time is the night, but if he sees it by daylight, we’ll both know. He bites on my throat, my jugular, up to my jaw, breathing hot and heavy against my skin, and his fingers push in deeper. I whine, whimper, bite my lips and shiver, and I want to scream.

His lips are on mine, his mouth claiming, and his hands are moving. They’re on my hips and he pulls me down, hard and without mercy, and swallows any sound I might have made as we fit together like a hand in a too-small glove.

It’s silent and still and the world feels like it’s holding it’s breath. I know I am. Can’t breathe, can’t yell, can’t anything except hold onto him, and we’re like that forever, or for seconds, god only knows.

He’s the one to break the spell. He moves, only a little, but right there, and it can’t just stop. I wrap my arms around him, mouth on his, and we move, and the springs groan and squeak quietly as I roll my hips, and he pushes his and it’s silent, and fierce and my lips are bruised and his shoulders are scratched and he’s somehow deeper, and harder, and his hands on my hips are pulling down, and one hand moves and his thumb rubs and his chest is against mine and I want him to… I… I…

He licks the sound and blood from my lips as I sag, and rolls me onto my back.

He’s hot and heavy and still moving, slow, deep, and it’s making me tingle and shiver all over again, too quick, one time after another, and he puts his mouth to my tit again, licks, licks, and his body is moving, harder and harder, and his hands are everywhere, and I bite down on my wrist to keep from screaming.

Then he’s done and gone, and I’m so damn close.

I push my hand down, and stroke and rub. I’m hot and wet, and still shivering from what he left for me, and my fingers slide inside, filling the gap he left.

The curtains rustle, and I smile. He’s still there, watching.

I lift my hips, and push my fingers deeper, over and over, and the heel of my hand presses right there, and I know he’s watching, and I know he’s touching himself like I am, and I know he wants what I want.

“Come on,” I breathe into the darkness, spreading my legs and my fingers. “Eat me up.”


End file.
